Lay Me to Sleep
by Sarah Rose Serena
Summary: One moment can bring the world down around you. Just one. These things happen every day. To everyone else. But when they happen to you ... it's a completely different story. Decidedly Dasey.


**Lay me to Sleep**

_A "Life with Derek" Story_

_By Sarah Rose Serena_

:::

"_Death is peaceful. Easy. Life's the hard part."_

Sometimes something happens. Something that turns your world upside down. Something that makes the color suddenly look wrong, off somehow. Something that you just can't accept. Because you'd never considered it a possibility. It never occurred to you, these things. They happen every day. To everyone else. But when they happen to you . . . it's a completely different story.

For me, it started with a phone call.

:::

I was reading Chaucer when it happened.

I hate Chaucer. Despise it. But I was supposed to be examining the influences of time and society on his early work. And I wasn't understanding the material. At all. I was frustrated and stressed about the essay that was due in less than two weeks. Agitated with Professor Carter for assigning it. Not to mention his entirely unethical rubric.

My hair needed to be washed. The dark crescents under my eyes were more pronounced than ever. The only food in the fridge was spoiled and I had no plans to do anything about it despite my stomach's rumbling. It was Friday night. I'd canceled my date with Trent. I was too stressed. Had too much to worry about. Not enough time.

There never seemed to be enough time these days.

I was nearing midterm season of my sophomore year at university and feeling just as overwhelmed and lost as I'd been that first freshman semester. High school had been easy. A piece of cake. A walk in the park. I was valedictorian and it all came so easy. Don't get me wrong—I worked hard for it. But it was . . . natural. I was always the best. I was supposed to have the brightest future, the most potential, the easiest, clearest, most direct path to success.

Then came college and my world fell apart. This was the real world. And I'd come to realize that the real world _sucked_. The real world was set on biting me in the ass every chance it got. It felt like everyone was just waiting for me to fail. A new feeling for me, to say the least. Life as an adult was nothing like I'd expected. It was nothing I'd prepared for. I was just struggling to catch up. To stay afloat. To keep a step ahead of failure. And it didn't feel like I was doing too well.

I was hunched over my desk in the dead of night, scanning my bleary eyes over the print of the massive textbook, ignoring the sharp sting of my vision as my lids fought to fall shut.

_There's never enough time anymore._ It was what I was thinking when it happened. When the phone rang.

In the movies, there's always a feeling that comes over you. A foreboding sensation. A sixth sense. A small niggling of intuition in the pit of your stomach. That's a load of crap.

I didn't feel anything. But irritation. I was irritated at the interruption. Ready to chew out the rude jerk that didn't have enough decency to wait till morning.

"Hello?" I practically snarled into the receiver, swirling around in my desk chair and running a hand through my tangled hair.

"Miss McDonald?" an unfamiliar voice asked from the other end of the line, a gruff baritone of a voice carrying an odd tone. "Cassandra McDonald?"

That was when the niggling in the pit of my stomach started. Belated as it was. But it was just a sliver of unease, more curiosity than anything. "That's me," I answered slowly.

Frowning, my eyes roamed to the bulletin board hung on the caramel stucco wall above my bed, tacked full of all of my index cards. I caught sight of the note about my doctor's appointment next Wednesday and inwardly cursed. I'd completely spaced out on it. I promised Trent lunch. Fourth time in a row I'd have to cancel on him. Poor guy. I doubted he'd stick around for much longer if this pattern kept up.

"Miss? Miss McDonald, are you still there?"

"Hm?" I blinked, startled at the voice in my ear. "Yes. I'm here." I paused to clear my throat, spinning the chair back around to face my desk and slapping Chaucer closed. My eyes couldn't take it. "I'm sorry, but who is this?"

"This is Detective Rush, ma'am, with the London P.D."

The niggling bloomed into panic in the space of a millisecond. Authority always made me nervous. "What's happened? Who's in trouble? Is this about Derek?" I splutter at super speed when I'm nervous.

This had to be about Derek, though. Only my philistine of a stepbrother would have the police calling me up in the middle of the night. Great. Now I'd probably have to go overdraw my bank account to bail him out of jail for whatever idiotic stunt he'd pulled tonight. _Wait_. No, I wouldn't. He could sit his ass in jail for the night for all I cared.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, ma'am, but—"

"Wait," I cut in, frowning down at my desk in confusion. "Did you say you were from the London police department?"

The man cleared his throat. "Well, yes, ma'am, I did. If you would—"

"Why are you calling me then?" I demanded, bewildered. This couldn't be about Derek. London was two hours away and Derek would've told me if he was going up for the weekend. Besides, he wouldn't have gone without me. We're supposed to be visiting home next weekend. Not now. But if this wasn't about Derek, then what the hell was this Detective Rush doing calling _me_? "What's this about?"

"Miss McDonald," he said slowly, a tinge of aggravation straining his tentative tone now. "If you'll just listen for a moment. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, ma'am, but there's been an accident." _An accident?_ "It's my duty to inform you that your parents have been in a car wreck."

"An accident?" I echoed. _An accident_. Mom and George were in an accident. I couldn't . . . couldn't wrap my head around it. Mom was such a careful driver. And George, well, he'd been in plenty of fender-benders, because really, behind the wheel, he was a spaz. But not once in all these years had there ever been any kind of serious incident.

_Serious Incident_. Oh God. If this . . . this cop was calling me and not Mom, not George, then it must be serious. They could . . . they could be hurt.

My bones seemed to liquefy. I could suddenly feel my heart thumping against my ribcage. I had to swallow three times and clear my throat twice before I finally found my voice. Even still, it sounded strange to my ears, distant and foreign.

"What hospital were they brought to?"

"Ma'am," he said again, and suddenly the sound of his voice grated against my nerves.

"_What hospital_?" I snapped, leaping to my feet and going for my keys.

"_Cassandra_," he cut into me in this tone that stopped me dead.

I sunk back into my chair weakly, even as my stomach threatened to turn. "Casey," I croaked. "My name . . . my name's Casey."

His tone softened again. "Casey," he sighed. "It was a head-on collision, Casey. Your father was driving—"

"Stepfather," I corrected him. I don't know why. Maybe because I'd gone cold and this feeling was very, very strange. Like I couldn't breathe, but I was breathing fine. Like I was ice cold, but wasn't shivering. Like I was blacking out, but my vision was the clearest it'd been all night. It felt like time should've stopped, just for a moment, just to let me catch up. But it didn't. Detective Rush kept talking into my ear in that soft-but-hard tone, like he had no idea I was fighting off catatonia.

"Your stepfather was driving. They were moving through the intersection of Oakdale and Lily Ridge when an SUV ran a red light, making a nonstop turn as they were trying to pass through."

"Head-on collision," I muttered, licking my lips. It stung. They were chapped, my lips. It was so cold outside and I hadn't had enough water to drink this past week. They were badly chapped. "What hospital are they at?" I tried again. Then it occurred to me. Oakdale and Lily Ridge. Mom was talking about the drama theater yesterday, when she called. They had tickets. It was supposed to be a family night. She'd asked me to come up and meet them. But I couldn't. I had Chaucer to read. "My sisters. My brother. They were with them. Where are they?"

"Your siblings," he paused, "Elizabeth McDonald and Edward Venturi. They were in the backseat at the time of the accident."

Lizzie and Edwin hadn't wanted to go, Mom had said. But she forced them. Family night. "Marti?" I asked. Or I thought I asked, but when I didn't hear myself, I realized my voice hadn't come out right. So I asked again. "My stepsister. Marti. She's only eight."

"I don't know, ma'am," he said apologetically. "She wasn't in the car."

I didn't realize I hadn't been breathing until it hissed out of me in a strangled gasp. "And the baby?"

"No baby," he told me.

I pulled in another breath and this time my lungs seemed to accept it. Lucy. Where would Lucy be? With Ms. Lauren. Yes. "They must be at the babysitter's," I concluded, voice rising, strengthening. I came to my feet. "I'll pick them up on my way to the hospital."

"Ma'am—"

"Stop calling me _ma'am_!"

"Casey," he said calmly, patiently, after a moment. I don't know why I yelled at him. I shouldn't have. It was rude. But right now, right now I hate him. I don't even know him and I feel this intense hatred. And I don't know why. I don't want to know. I just want to get off the phone. But I can't hang up. I don't . . . I can't . . . I don't understand.

"Please," I sighed, falling back against the front door with my coat clutched in my other hand. "Just tell me which hospital to come to."

"Casey, you need to listen. There were no s—"

"Don't," I snapped, the venom in my voice surprising me. Softening, I sighed and let myself slide to the floor, knees pressing into my chest and coat still clutched tightly in my hand. "Please don't. Just . . . tell me where I need to go. Tell me what I need to do."

There was a long pause of silence that seemed to wrap around me and make me hollow. My eyes took in the apartment. An empty, still, quiet studio that barely stretched 15 by 20 feet circumference, excluding the bathroom and the balcony. It suddenly seemed so terrifying lonely. I haven't felt like this since I was five and got trapped in the dark linen closet playing hide and seek with Dad. I knew the lock on the door was broken, but I wasn't worried, because I thought he would surely find me. He always found me so quickly. But his phone rang and it was work and he forgot we were playing.

Then Detective Rush gave a tired sigh that filled my ear through my tiny flip-phone that shook me clear. "Alright," he said slowly, resignedly. "Alright. Just come down to Mercy West. Do you know where that is?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Come to the admitting area, I guess."

"Okay."

"Just remember my name, alright? Detective Rush."

"Thank you," I told him. It was meant to be offhand. But it came out a shaky whisper.

He sighed again, heavier this time. "No problem, ma'—Miss McDonald." Then the line went dead and I was alone.

I held the phone to my ear for a little while longer, just staring, before flipping it shut and pulling to my feet. I shoved the phone into the pocket of my pajama bottoms—the billowy ones striped vertically with different shades of hot pink and the drawstring waistband. My tank top was white and not appropriate for going out in public. I pulled my coat on and buttoned the double-breasted torso, tying the wraparound around my waist. I slipped on my sneakers and pulled my hair up into a messy bun to get it away from my face. Then, with my keys and bag in hand, I walked out the door.

:::

I'd planned to be on the interstate heading northeast by now. Instead, I found myself sitting behind the wheel of my sea-blue Prius—the one Dad bought me as a graduation present to make up for him not being able to attend the ceremony—as it sat parked outside my stepbrother's apartment complex. He lived within walking distance of campus, like me, only on the complete opposite side. I could see his apartment's windows and the lights were all on.

I felt cold. The inside of the car was a bubble of warmth thanks to the heater and protective seal. But I felt cold. It was a foreign chill, one I wasn't familiar with. A quiet coldness that went bone-deep and made me ache. All I wanted to do was close my eyes and go to sleep. I was so tired, I didn't care about anything else. But I couldn't.

I tried to call his cellular again. When he ignored me for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, I pulled myself from the car and started up the concrete walkway. He was in apartment 15B. I knew it well, as much as he seemed to wish that I didn't.

I knocked on the door with my fist, then, as I waited, my eyes drew to the tiny splotches of ink on the inside of my wrist. It was Japanese characters I'd gotten for my nineteenth birthday. Derek practically forced me to. It said: _Auspicious Princess_. It'd been ironic then. Funny. Kinda cute. I'd gotten this warm/fuzzy feeling when he'd chosen it and left no room for debate. Now, my stomach turned again. It was ironic. But there was no warm and fuzzy to it. Only this bitter knot twisting itself deeper into my chest.

I knocked again, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. And again. And again. I knew he was in there. I could hear the low hum of the TV and the heater. I waited for the muffled shuffling to come. When it didn't, I pounded against his door again, harder now, so hard my knuckles stung.

"Derek," I called.

I waited, gnawing at the inside of my lip for something to do. But nothing came. There was just more stillness. I huffed out a heavy breath, the puffs leaving my mouth curling into clouds of smoke in the cold night air.

"Derek." My hands unfurled against the cold bite of the door, slipping down but not away. "I know you're in there. Just open the door."

A sharp bang bashed into the center of the door, down by my knees. I didn't jump, but I should have. My hand pressed flat against the chipped green paint.

"Derek—"

"Go away, Casey."

I withdrew my hand from the door, taking a small step back. His voice was closer than I'd expected. Like he was leaning against the other side of the door, he was so close. I cringed a little at the thick rage carried on his tone. The hoarseness. The cracked sound of it. Suddenly, all my body wanted was to be on the other side of that door. That door was the enemy. I hated that door. I needed it to get out of my way.

"Derek," I sighed, stepping closer again. "Just open up."

Another bang shook the slab of wood in its frame, making a shiver run up her spine. "I said _go away_."

_Is he crying?_ I wondered. His voice filled my ears and it made me think he was crying. I'd never seen Derek cry. But that broken angry edge to his voice couldn't be mistaken. It shocked me and I went even colder. The knot in my stomach churned.

_God, that damn door. _

"Derek," I whispered, flattening my hands against it and screwing my eyes shut for a long second. "Please come with me."

I listened to the soft rustle as he slid to the floor, probably with his back to me and his arms on his knees. _God, that damn door._ "Just go," he said after a long pause.

As much as I would've loved to have stood there begging him to let me in all night, I had to get to London. I had to. I was supposed to . . . to . . . to meet Detective Rush at the hospital. And if he wanted to be a jackass and send me away, then fine. He could stay here. He could . . . he could go to hell.

I left before my mouth had the chance to start pleading again. I should've run back to my car, but my body felt too heavy. All I could manage was a dragging trudge. I slipped back inside the warmth of the interior of the Prius and started up the engine. I went through the motions—seatbelt, headlights, rearview mirror, adjusting the heater to make sure it didn't fog up the windshield. Then I pulled out onto the road and I headed for the nearest entrance to the interstate. It was about a hundred miles over into London, then another twenty through to the opposite end of the city, where Mercy West was.

I had to go around to the other side of the building because I could only find a parking space by the ER entrance. When I finally found the right admittance center, I found a waiting room rowed with hardback wooden chairs and shin-high end tables splayed with old magazines and tissue boxes and vases of silk flowers. The walls were a sickly yellow with an odd maroon stripe down along the railing that lined the corridors.

There was an old woman sitting in one of the hardback chairs, near the TV that was screwed into the wall by the ceiling. She was sandwiched between two preteen-looking boys in scruffy clothes with curly blonde hair. The old woman followed me with her eyes as I came through the door and made my way toward the desk.

I hesitated, standing in the middle of the near-empty room, and looked around me. I felt lost. What exactly was I supposed to do? I took a deep breath and braved it, forcing my feet up to the admitting desk and waited for the nurse behind it to give me her attention. When she turned to me with this expectant look, I lost my voice.

My mouth opened and closed for a minute before she took pity on me. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"Do you need to make one?"

Again, I shook my head, pressing my lips into a thin line as my stomach threatened to come up into my throat.

"Okay," she said slowly, her raven brow furrowing as she moved closer to me and set the file in her hand down on the desk. "Are you looking for someone?"

I planted my hands on the desktop and fisted them, managing to nod.

"Okay then," she said brightly, turning her body toward the computer monitor sitting nearby. "Who are you looking for?"

"I-I—" I let out the air trapped in my lungs as my head got dizzy. "A Detective Rush," I croaked. "He said . . . ."

She stared at me for a long second before pursing her lips and nodding, reaching for the phone beside the keyboard. "What's your name?" she asked me.

A simple enough question. This I could do. "Casey McDonald."

She looked away, did something with her fingers, and brought the receiver to her mouth. Then her voice resounded through the room over the intercom. "Detective Rush. If there's a Detective Rush on the premises, Casey McDonald is waiting for you in admittance. Casey McDonald for Detective Rush."

"I—thanks," I managed once she'd set the receiver back on its hook and looked up at me. Her nametag read Meriden. Nurse Meriden. I rolled that over my tongue and my thoughts for as long as I could.

She nodded, then made a sweeping gesture with one arm. "Take a seat, Miss."

I did. In the corner. And when I looked down to see my hands shaking, I clasped them tight and pinned them between my thighs, squeezing till my circulation cut off and the shaking stopped. Only it didn't. Because my feet were bouncing, making my knees jiggle, which made my spine quiver. I sucked in my stomach and bit down on the inside of my cheek, staring straight ahead of me.

I have to call Aunt Fiona. Tell her . . . let her know . . . about the accident.

And Dad, too. I have to . . . he needs to know right away . . . about Lizzie and Mom. That they're . . . that they were in an accident.

And George and Edwin—who do I call? Abbey. But no. It's not my place. Surely Derek would call his mother. He'd tell her. But who else?

I . . . I can't think. _If Derek had opened his damn door_. He should be here. What right did he have to just hide? While I have to be down here. While I have to . . . to . . . what do I have to do? I don't know. I . . . I don't know what to do. I should make calls. Family. Tell them. As soon as I . . . as soon as I see Detective Rush. He . . . he'll tell me what to do.

But I should call Ms. Lauren. Make sure Marti and Lucy are . . . are okay. _They're okay_. They're both fine. They're with Ms. Lauren. Marti and Lucy are fine. But I should call her. To make sure. To let her know that I won't be able to pick them up until . . . until I . . . until later.

No.

_No_. _I can't do this. I just can't. _This wasn't supposed to happen. _An accident_. Mom and Lizzie and George and Edwin. I just . . . they were in an accident. Detective Rush, he'd been trying to tell me that they . . . _that they were gone_.

_Gone. That's what he was going to say. No survivors. No . . . gone._

I'm not an idiot. I heard his voice. I get what he was doing. I understand. But . . . I don't. I don't get it. How could this have happened? It couldn't have. It just couldn't have. I had to have fallen asleep over Chaucer. I was tired and starved and exhausted and cramping. I'm on my period. I always have really vivid dreams when I'm menstruating. I must've fallen asleep.

_That's it._

I just have to suffer through this in silence. Just keep breathing. Keep steady. It has to end eventually. Just endure.

A man appeared at the admitting desk, tall and burly, in cheap slacks and a dark blue button-down. He was lantern-jawed and green-eyed and his hair was dirty-blonde and standard regulation cut. His jacket hit his thighs and flapped open around him as he leaned over the desk and tapped his knuckles on it to grab Nurse Meriden's attention.

He pulled one lapel of his jacket to the side and flashed her the small badge clipped to his belt. When her eyes darted down to it then back up at his face, he muttered under his breath, "Where's the girl?"

She nodded with her chin in my direction and he turned, gaze roaming then zeroing in on me here in my corner. From the voice, I was expecting something different. He was much less—rough than his voice suggested. He was a few feet away when I suddenly started hating him again. _Don't. Stop. Turn around. Don't come any closer. Just leave me alone_. I panicked. Or at least, it felt like I was panicking, but I still couldn't move. I was frozen. My throat closed up.

"Miss McDonald," he murmured, tipping his head at me.

I looked up and swallowed, pressing my lips together and pulling my hands out from between my thighs. "Where are they?" I came to my feet just as he reached me, towering above me at what must've been at least 6'2.

He held out an arm, beckoning me to come along. I moved one foot at a time until I was sure I wouldn't stumble and he led me out of the waiting area and down a long corridor. It was brightly lit with fluorescents that stung my eyes. He didn't seem bothered by them though. I ducked my head and stuffed my fingers into the pockets of my coat as I followed him. I tried to pay attention to the signs plastered over the walls, trying to read which arrows we were following, but I couldn't focus on anything but my feet.

He took me to an elevator and I followed him inside. Suddenly, my heart stuttered. _What if I misread the situation?_ What if he was trying to tell me that they'd been badly hurt. Mom hit her head and got cut from the glass of the windshield. George's chest was injured by the steering wheel. Maybe Lizzie got a concussion from the airbag and Edwin wasn't wearing his seatbelt so he was flung forward into the gearshift. Maybe they needed surgery. Maybe someone was in a coma. Maybe they were all asleep from the painkillers and that's why nobody but Detective Rush could call me. Maybe Derek was just pissed at me for accidentally embarrassing him last Tuesday in Sociology in Media during the class discussion and Detective Rush didn't even call him.

It was bad. But bearable. We could get through this. I just needed to see them.

And then he took us down . . . and my knees gave out.

"_Whoa, whoa_," he sighed, snaking an arm around my waist and holding me up as my chest carved itself into a claustrophobically empty cavity that just wouldn't quit oozing. "Easy there," he murmured. "Take it easy. Just breathe."

"They're dead." I pulled away from him and fell back against the wall of the elevator just as the door dinged open. "Aren't they?"

I forced my head to stop whipping from side to side and looked up at him. My face burned but my eyes were dry. I couldn't cry. The knot of pent-up agony in my throat and behind my eyeballs was pressing down on me. But the dam wouldn't break, as much as I needed it to. I just . . . couldn't. I was just so cold. So still. So frozen.

"My mom. Nora McDonald-Venturi. My sister, Lizzie. My stepfather. My stepbrother. Are you sure it was them? It could've—" I couldn't even finish.

He watched me, calm and composed, patience etched into his light green eyes. The door tried to close and he reached over and held a hand in the way, keeping it open, without taking his eyes off of me. I turned my head at the third ding, looking out through the door and found an empty corridor. A white hallway that went straight ahead, too long, too far, too freaking bright. It was inconsiderate and cold and abrasive and it grated against my skin like a razorblade.

But then it all slipped away again. Not gone. Just buried, deep, deep down inside the pit of my stomach. And the numbness overtook me again. I had to be calm. I had to get through this. _Just endure_. I looked up at him again, the bangs of hair that had escaped my bun fell into my eyes and stuck to my feverish face. I pulled my mouth into a hard line and forced air up my nose and into my lungs. Then I let it out softly through my mouth as my fingertips dug painfully into the cool metal of the elevator.

"Are you sure?" I whispered. I'm sure there was some sort of begging in my eyes, my face, my voice. But he just stared, then slowly nodded his head at me. I sniffed, licking my raw lips again. "I need you to say it."

"I'm sorry, Miss McDonald—"

"Casey," I said. "Casey."

"Casey. Your family didn't survive the collision."

I let my head fall, screwing my eyes shut and holding my breath again as I reached up a hand and tucked those stray strands of hair behind my ear. My face was burning so badly. It felt on fire. I choked, then pressed the back of my hand against my mouth, fisting it.

"I'm gonna need you to confirm the bodies."

A violent shudder ran through me and for a second I was sure I was going to implode. Then I went cold again. Things seemed to drown out, dim, darken. Whatever this was, I felt like I'd sunk to the bottom of the pool and no one was here to help me up.

"I've notified the rest of the immediate family, the ones I could find anyway, but there's no one else willing to come down here."

_Immediate Family. That's me . . . and Derek. And eight-year-old Marti and one-year-old Lucy. No. One and a half. Lucy's one and six months now. Oh God. _Mom was planning to organize a family reunion for Lucy's second birthday, get the whole extended family together for the first time since I was seven. She was so excited.

"Casey," Detective Rush called, made me blink and pull my head up to him, hesitantly lowering my fist away from my mouth. "I'm sorry. I know how difficult this is. If there's anyone you can call to come be here with you—" I shook my head, jerkily, and he cut himself off. "Okay. They're down this way," he said, gesturing at the abrasive stretch of hallway. "Are you ready?"

Again, I just shook my head, not even trying to let go of the wall yet. I bent at the waist, looking down at my worthless knees. "What happened?"

His hand landed tentatively on my shoulder. "Let's just go sit down—"

"_What happened_?"

He retracted his hand and drew out a heavy sigh. "Your stepfather died on impact," he told me in a quiet voice. "The steering wheel crushed him." I screwed my eyes shut tight again and forcibly breathed. "Your mother was thrown through the windshield. She died quickly. I doubt there was any pain."

"And my—" I took a steadying breath. "And Lizzie and Edwin?"

"Your siblings were found alive at the scene. Your stepbrother had bled out already though and died in transit. Your sister was brought into the ER and the docs worked on her for a half hour before complications got the best of 'em."

I picked my head up and squinted at him. "What does that mean?"

He gave me a look of slight annoyance that flickered so quick I was surprised I caught it. "One of her ribs broke and punctured her lung. They had it under control but there was too much internal bruising. She didn't make it to surgery."

"Was she awake?" I asked. _God, stop, shut up, leave it alone!_ I didn't want to hear it. I couldn't take it. But I had to. I _had_ to know. He nodded carefully. "Did she . . . do you know if she said anything?"

"No, ma'am, I don't."

I don't know how long I just stood there, half collapsed against the wall of the open elevator, until he crossed to me and touched me again. He had me by the arm, the slightest of touches, but was urging me out of the elevator and into the too-bright corridor.

We were past the first intersection before he broke the silence that had settled over us, thick and suffocating, not that I cared. "The driver of the SUV was DOA."

"Dead on arrival?" I muttered distantly.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Who was it?" _Who killed my family?_

"Mm," he sighed, frowning, urging me onward with a hand at the small of my back. "A local woman, Kate Larson. She worked as a waitress at a diner a few blocks from that intersection. Probably just in a rush to get home."

"It makes no sense," I whispered. He started to slip an arm around me when my knees buckled, but I laid a hand on his grip, stilling him. I could keep myself on my own feet, goddamn it. I was . . . this was . . . I could damn well walk! "It's just, this is ridiculous."

His hand returned to the small of my back as we walked at an even slower pace than before. "Ma'am, in my experience, this sort of thing very rarely ever makes any kind of sense. As cliché as it may be, these things just happen. There's no rhyme or reason to it."

"What did we do?" I whispered, forgetting him for a moment. Really. What did we do to deserve this? What did I do? Mom. George. They're good people. Kind and compassionate and caring. They'd never hurt anyone. They never did anything to deserve this. And Lizzie and Edwin were just starting out. Barely teenagers. They . . . _they're gone_.

It doesn't feel like it. It doesn't feel like anything. But it definitely doesn't feel like that. I haven't seen them since last month. I was supposed to visit last weekend. I'd made up an excuse because I was too tired. I just wanted some time to myself without having to run myself into the ground working, socializing, studying, thinking. I blew them off. And now . . . it didn't feel like I'd never get another chance to see them. It didn't feel like that. It just felt like . . . nothing.

"Mrs. Larson had her kid in the car with her," he told me. He stopped by a set of swinging double doors and turned to me, letting his hand drop away. "He's in intensive care right now, alive, but it doesn't look good. He didn't deserve it and neither did your family. But shit happens. Justice doesn't have anything to do with it."

I turned my eyes up to his face, finding him looking away. "Whatever you say," I murmured.

The sign above the doors caught my breath in my throat again. _Morgue_. I'm at the morgue. I have to go in there now to confirm that the bodies lying on those steel slabs are actually my family. The last of my family. My mom. Lizzie. Who do I have left now? This shouldn't be me. Someone else should be here doing this. Not me. I'm not the one. I'm just . . . _not me_.

I went in. Because as much as I wanted to turn and run, I couldn't. There are just some things you have to do. You don't always get a choice.

The bodies were in these _containers_, these steel cabinets that lined the wall. The coroner was an old man, paunchy, balding, and graying. He spoke with a lisp and had these eerily nosy eyes that peered at me and ran shivers up and down my spine. The room was much dimmer than the rest of the hospital and stunk of chemicals that burned the inside of my nose.

The whole time I was just concentrating on holding back the urge to hurl.

Detective Rush stayed with me the whole time, even as the old man tugged open the small square doors and slid the slabs outward, one by one. And as stoic as Detective Rush was, I was glad to be able to feel him beside me the entire time. If I wasn't so cold, I knew I'd feel incredibly grateful to not be alone.

I went back up as soon as he let me. And as we stood in the parking lot by my Prius, the icy wind cutting into my face, I thought it was over. I thought I'd endured. But no. He stopped me, handed me a card with his name and number on it.

London Police Department. 3rd Precinct.

"I have to go pick up the kids," I told him dully, cradling my keys in my palm and staring off into the darkness.

"The procedure when it comes to children at such a young age is for social services to take the baby until things get worked out," he said. It went through me like a knife, the first startling thing I'd felt in what seemed like eternity.

Panic attacked my heartbeat as I turned to him, wide-eyed. "No," I declared. "You can't take them away. We're family." I took a breath and realized, "They're all I have left." And then the anger rippled through me, a flash of heat over the iceberg gripping me. "You're not gonna take them away from me."

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and nodded. "If that's what you want, the arrangements can be made. Temporary custody falls to the nearest suitable legal guardian. If that's you, then you have nothing to worry about."

"You're not taking them." I fell back against my car and stared. I was still waiting to wake up. But until then, I had to go pick up Marti and Lucy. I had to take them home and put them in their beds and convince them that everything would be okay, even though their entire world just went up in flames and they weren't even aware of it.

They wouldn't really take them away, would they? Who else would take Lucy? Not Aunt Fiona. She barely tolerated Vicki all of these years, and that was her own daughter. There was Uncle Henry on the Venturi side of the family, but he was off somewhere in the states. I had no way to contact him and besides, he'd never even met her. He couldn't take her. I couldn't let some total stranger take Lucy away.

That left me and Derek. And Derek was still hiding behind that damn door. _He didn't care_. He didn't care that I needed him. _Damn you, Derek. Why couldn't you just open the door?_

I was the only one here, the only one Lucy had. And Marti . . . God, they could take Marti away. I'm not even her real sister. I couldn't grasp the idea. But Marti still had her mother. Abbey just needed to be called. Abbey was in Spain still, right? I couldn't remember. Damn it, I couldn't remember.

_This is such a mess._

"Look," Detective Rush said, sighing again and glancing around us. He was getting anxious. He obviously had somewhere else to be. "Just call my line tomorrow and we'll set you an appointment to come in and get everything squared away, alright?"

I nodded.

"Okay," he said, sighing in relief and stepping back. "Are you gonna be alright to drive?"

I looked out at the road and waved a hand in the air. "It's only ten miles. I just drove two hours to get up here. I'm fine."

He didn't look like he believed me, but it was enough to ease his conscience, apparently. He turned on his heel and with more than a few backward glances, Detective Rush made his escape. I watched him go, feeling glassy-eyed and rigid.

When he was gone, I squeezed my fist closed around the keys and let them bite into my skin, letting me breathe again. I pushed away from my leaning position and turned around, going to unlock the driver's door.

I tried to. Really. Truly. All I wanted was to sit down before I fell down. But my hand was shaking too badly. I couldn't get the key into the lock. It scratched over the paint of the car when I almost got it in then slipped and skidded.

A sharp sob broke free and I shuddered. But the keys slipped from my hands and fell onto the pavement at my feet. With one hand on the door, I started to kneel, lowering myself down carefully, reaching for them, but the wave knocked into me before I could and everything just came down around me.

I fell, knees smacking into the concrete as I hunched in on myself and squeezed my arms around my body, trying to hold in the shaking. The choking, strangled sobs wracked my entire body, aching and panging, sharp and blunt and dull and dim. The pain was fiery bright and relentless. An ocean wave sweeping me into the undercurrent and pounding down over me like a cruel hammer. I couldn't catch my breath. I flailed, kicking and screaming, and just couldn't get out from the undercurrent's grip. I couldn't break the surface, couldn't breathe, couldn't call for help, couldn't fight it off.

I gave in, not strong enough for anything else when it was weighing down on top of me like this. I gave up, curling into a ball against my car in the dark hospital parking lot with the sounds of the highway at my back and a deafening silence ringing in my ears. Tears and snot streamed down my face as I choked and convulsed, clutching my arms over my head and jabbing my knees into my chest so hard it bruised.

I wanted to scream. If I could just stop sobbing. If I could get to my feet, straighten up, stomp the concrete, throw my head back and scream my lungs out up at the sky. It wouldn't make anything better. It wouldn't fix this. It wouldn't do anything at all. But I did it anyway, just to get myself out of the pathetic huddle I'd crawled into. I used the locked door handle to rip myself to my feet and threw myself in the other direction, tangling my hands in my hair and tearing, screaming so harshly my throat stung. I kept going. I spun back to my car and started pounding on it.

I hit and kicked and pounded my fists until the screams died down and my body stopped shuddering and my chest stopped trying to heave itself up my throat. I kept going until all that was left were the tears that kept running, streaking down my cheeks and off my chin.

With a strangled gasp, I collapsed. Clutching at myself and rocking, I found myself doubled over on my hands and knees as I puked my guts out. It hurt. Incredibly. It was awful. But when I pulled back, when I swiped my sleeve over my mouth and nose and fell back against my car, I could breathe again. I didn't feel like I was about to explode. I felt exhausted. And used. And calm.

I needed to be calm.

There were people waiting for me. Counting on me.

It was right at that second that my cell went off, ringing Chopin's piano notes through the air and shattering the suffocating bubble of lifelessness that had settled here. Gathering . . . something, I wasn't sure what, I sucked in a sharp breath and fumbled for the phone, bringing it to my ear.

"Where are you?"

My heart stuttered for a second before jumping back to life. I swallowed thickly, fisting my other hand over the dropped keys and burrowing it in my lap. "Derek?"

"Casey," he said, sounding clear and focused and not at all like he'd sounded a few hours ago. "Casey, where are you right now?"

Pressing the phone to the side of my sticky face, I looked around me, blinking. Oh right. Here I am. I had to get up now. Had to go. "I'm on my way to pick up Marti and Lucy," I told him. I had to go, had to go, had to go. But my body wasn't listening.

A few moments ticked by as I held my breath, waiting to hear his voice again. Then finally, he said, "I'll meet you at the house."

"Derek," I called, my voice coming out surprisingly cracked and desperate. It stung my ears. "Derek, I—"

"Case," he cut in, that stubborn un-budging tone to his voice now. I closed my eyes for a minute. "I'll meet you at the house," he said slowly, being pointedly succinct.

"Okay," I managed, swallowing the bitter saliva pooling in my mouth. The taste of sickness still lingered and I wanted some water so badly. But then I swallowed a few more times and realized it wasn't important.

He hung up first and I just sat there, holding the phone to my face, sitting by a puddle of my own vomit, on the dirty, damp cement, in a dark parking lot, with my back pressed into my car and my keys cutting into the skin of my palm, making me bleed.

He was on his way. _Derek_. He was coming. He was going to be here. He was coming.

_I won't be alone._

He was . . . he should've been here the whole time, the bastard! Why did he get to be so selfish? Why did he get to bail out and just let it all fall on me?

This was how it would be. I knew it.

I could call Dad. But I doubted he'd be good for anything but money. It was his way. He wrote checks. He didn't do support. He'd distanced himself from every negative emotion he'd ever come in contact with. He was a non-confrontational man and he'd do anything to avoid having to deal with something this hard. I understand it. I came to terms with that part of who he was a long time ago. I don't blame him for it. I can't.

_But what about me?_

I'd met Abbey all of twice since becoming a part of the Venturi family back when I was fifteen. Derek, Edwin, and Marti hadn't seen her that many more times than I had during recent years. But these circumstances were . . . extreme. She would come. She had to come. And she would take care of her two remaining children. I didn't have to worry about Derek and Marti. I wasn't responsible for them.

And Lucy . . . Lucy just lost both her parents. A part of me, a selfish, resentful part of me thought that she was lucky. She was too young to even grasp the loss. She would right now, I was sure. But she wouldn't remember the loss, the pain. She'd never have to be conscious of this feeling of being utterly and entirely alone in the world. Because she's not alone. She has me. She has to have me. There's no one else to take care of her.

Lucy had me. And Derek. Lucy had me and Derek. I wasn't sure how much that was worth, that beautiful baby girl having nobody but me and Derek. But it was something.

Marti had Derek and her mother. Derek had Marti, Lucy, and his mother. Lucy had me and Derek and Marti. Nobody was alone. _It's going to be okay_. Nothing's as bad as it seems. This is _not_ as bad as it feels.

I swear.

I know.

I'm sure.

I believe.

But . . . who do _I_ have?

Who's gonna take care of _me_?

Every time I have a problem, I call my mom. When I'm sad. When I'm happy. When I'm scared or hurt or confused or lonely, I call Mom. And she has to be there. She has to be there to answer. _She has to_. _They_ have to. The house . . . they're supposed to be there, filling it. They're supposed to be there when I come home.

But there _is_ no home anymore. That house . . . it's empty. It'll always be empty now.

_Stop!_

Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop it. Stop it. Shut up. Just stop!

_God, I can't do this. I can't. I can't let myself do this. _

It's not always going to be empty. Not tonight. Because I have to go. I have to get up onto my feet and get into my car. I have to go get Marti and Lucy from Ms. Lauren's. I have to bring them back to that empty house and fill it. For the night. I have to put them to bed and I have to make some very important calls. I have to . . . I have to get things done.

I have to salvage this. I have to salvage _something_.

_God, somebody, anybody, whoever's listening . . . I need help. Help me be able to do this._

I prayed a mantra and ran over it in my head over and over again as I pulled myself to my feet and managed to get inside the car. I started the engine. I left Mercy West behind. I drove east toward home. And I just kept thinking. Help me. Help me. Help me. If I kept thinking about those words, this plea, I couldn't think about anything else. If I didn't think about other things, I wouldn't breakdown. I could handle this.

_It's not the end of the world. I promise._

My mom told me that when Lady, our golden retriever, was hit by a car and died. We buried her in the backyard and held a memorial. I was six. She told me that.

_It's not the end of the world. I promise._

She said it to me when I scraped my knee falling off my bike. She said it to me when the boy I liked chose Mandy Sullivan to be his valentine in third grade. She said it to me when Dad left us. She said it to me when Lizzie got sick with pneumonia and it looked bad. She said it to me when she married George and we moved into the Venturi house. She said it to me after my first breakup, my first humiliation, my first loss. Every painful experience in my life and she promised me that it was not the end of the world. Tomorrow was always a new day and whether we liked it or not, the sun always came up and time always went on, dragging us along for the ride, willing or not.

_It's not the end of the world. I promise._

She was always right. Every time she'd said it. She'd always been right. And this time couldn't be any different. I had to believe that this was not the end of my world. That I could put the pieces back together. Someday. And until then, I just needed to concentrate on what I had to do. There were still important things left here. Like Lucy. Like Marti. Derek. What to do with the house. How to go on from here. Funeral arrangements. _Oh God_. My stomach churned again. That hadn't even occurred to me until now.

Who would plan a funeral? How would we afford it? Life insurance or something like that was supposed to cover funeral expenses, right? Oh God, why don't I know any of these things? I should know about these kind of things. I'm supposed to be an adult. What would I do?

_Not tonight._ I could think about that tomorrow.

I pulled into Ms. Lauren's driveway to find the majority of the house completely dark. There was a little light shining from the living room window though. I climbed out of the car with a steadying breath and moved to the door. I knocked, keeping away from the doorbell.

Ms. Lauren was a 37-year-old widow. Blonde and slim and pretty with eyes as deep blue as mine. She had a genuinely kind smile and was a teacher at Thompson I.S.D. I'd always liked her well enough. But when the door swung open and she found me on her doorstep, the soft look on her face dimming to blissful confusion, I found myself feeling more hatred, like the hatred I felt for Detective Rush. It was unfair and left a sick taste in my mouth, or maybe that was just the remnants of vomit.

More tears burned my eyes but didn't fall. I could appreciate that.

"Casey? What are you doing here? Where's—" She trailed off as comprehension settled in over her expression. Her eyes were scanning my face. She wasn't an oblivious woman. "My God. What's happened?"

_Please don't make me do this now._ "There—" I had to clear my throat again. "There's been . . . um, I'm just . . . the kids. I need to pick up the kids. Bring them home."

"Right, of course." Lauren nodded, stepping aside and ushering me in. "Marti's passed out upstairs. Lucy's up still, just can't seem to get her to close her eyes, but she's been really sedated all night, so it shouldn't be long now." She said all this in a gentle voice, almost a whisper, while she led me deeper into the house.

When we stepped into the living room, she turned back to me but my eyes were on the playpen in the center of the room.

"What's wrong, Casey?" she asked seriously, stepping close to me. "You look terrible. Has something happened?"

I just wanted to grab Lucy and run. But, I took a breath and looked back at Lauren. "There's been an accident," I said, and my voice didn't even sound like my voice anymore. Didn't feel like it either. Which was fine with me at the moment. She gasped and glanced back at Lucy with a look that made my gut churn. "I really have to get going. Please."

Lauren's eyes jumped over my face for a few seconds, darting and scanning, before she frowned deeply and bobbed her head. "Of course, of course. I'll go get Marti. The car seat is just over in the corner of the foyer." She gestured the right direction before starting for the stairs.

I turned. "Could you not wake her?" I asked. "Just carry her out and buckle her into the backseat." A tornado could swoop in and Marti would sleep through it. I couldn't deal with the thought of her awake right now. All those questions. All those answers I wasn't sure my throat would spit out.

I watched her go then turned toward the baby girl. She was sprawled over the pillows and blankets in the pen, a pacifier in her mouth and her eyes drooping as they fixated on the television. _Mickey Mouse Clubhouse_. She loved that show. Could watch it 24/7. I stopped, staring, and indulged in the briefest flicker of a smile before I tore my gaze away and went to get the car seat.

I was just carrying it out to the Prius when Lauren came out the door with Marti draped over her, legs around her waist, arms flung to the side, head dropped over Lauren's shoulder. The little girl's chocolate tangles fell into her face but even through them, Casey could see that she was out stone cold. Thank God for small mercies.

Lauren stopped on the other side of the car and I held up a hand to halt her. She waited, swaying this way and that ever so slightly with Marti in her arms while I bent over and fiddled with the damnable seat. I always hated this thing. When I managed to get it buckled correctly and fit snug enough, I straightened and gave Lauren a _go ahead_ signal. She bent and lowered Marti into the opposite side as I made my way back into the house to get Lucy.

One foot in front of the other. One breath at a time. I could do this.

I switched off the TV to let her know it was time to go and bent down into the playpen. She didn't even sit up for me. She must've been exhausted. It was very rare that she just laid there like that, zoning out like a zombie. Once in a blue moon, maybe.

I scooped her up, grabbing her extra pacifier and stuffing it into my pocket before snatching up the blanket and swaddling it around her. She just draped over me like a boneless lump, burying her face in the crook of my shoulder and fisting one tiny hand around a fallen lock of my hair while the other stayed pressed to her face, cupping her own cheek while she sucked on the binky and squeezed her eyes shut.

I paused for a minute, standing there, holding her, and closed my eyes too, letting the soft thump-thumping of her heart carry through her little chest and into me. I listened to her breathe, the softest sputter of ins and outs, only so pronounced because she was so tired. For the first time in what seemed like forever, it didn't feel like I was dying. It felt warm and not so bad. Like the world wasn't completely destroyed. There was still something left.

I didn't even realize I was crying again until the hand that had been holding my hair came up and pressed into my cheek, catching the wetness there. She picked her head up and looked at me, tilting it slightly as her brow furrowed and her bright hazelnut eyes peered into me. Her tiny fingers wiped away the tears as she dragged her hand down my cheek and let it fall to my chest. Still, she stared.

I took in a deep breath and gave her a smile, smoothing my free hand over the back of her head, over silky russet curls, and urging it back down to my shoulder. After a second of stubbornness, she relented and buried her face in my neck again, sucking in one drawn-out inhale before puffing it out. The pacifier fell from her mouth and I managed to catch it against my stomach as I carried her out of the house.

Lauren was standing on the porch, arms wrapped around herself, watching a sleeping Marti through the backseat window of the car. She turned to me as I came out with Lucy and stepped into the driveway. I felt Lauren's eyes burning into me as I buckled Lucy into her car seat and shut the door. I went around to the driver's side and Lauren stepped off the porch.

"Casey, please," she called. "Tell me what happened."

I stopped with one foot in the car and turned back to her, hand gripping the top of the door. "They died."

I didn't wait to deal with it. I just slipped inside and started up the engine.

The ride home was silent and short. Unbearable. My eyes kept drifting to the mirror, boring into the two little reflections in the backseat. Lucy didn't fall asleep. Which was weird. Car rides normally always did the trick. But no. She refused to close her eyes. She just kept staring at me, fiddling thoughtfully with her tiny hands.

At least Marti was being merciful and snoring away in blissful oblivion. I wanted to draw it out, give her as much time as possible before I brought her world down around her. It could at least wait until morning. As long as I could get her inside and into her own bed without waking her. Typically, that would be no problem. But obviously, tonight was not a night to expect anything easy.

I couldn't stop the sickening drop of my heart when I pulled into the driveway at home to find it empty. Where was he? He wasn't coming. Oh God. I shut off the engine and shut my eyes. _He's coming. He'll be here. Breathe._ I opened my eyes and they landed on the reflection of Lucy. She was still staring at me, her brow furrowed once again as she watched me struggle not to cry.

"I'm not alone. I've got you," I whispered. "We're not alone."

I took my keys out of the ignition and climbed shakily from the car. Once I was on my feet, I moved up the walkway and up onto the porch. I found the right key, took a deep breath, and unlocked the front door. I left it unsealed and stayed away from all of the switches. It was dark. The darkness around me was soothing, gentle and understanding. I don't think I could stand the light right now.

I shoved the keys into my pocket as I made my way back to the car. Then I bent down inside and began unbuckling Lucy from her seat. She watched me, little hands laying placidly on my arms as I worked around her. I was just gingerly pulling her from the seat and straightening when a familiar car pulled up to the curb.

I froze, cradling Lucy to my chest with one arm wrapped around her and the other clutching at the roof of the Prius for support. I took a deep breath and felt it rattle through me. _He's here. Oh God. He's here_. I wanted to sink to my knees in relief. And just barely managed to refrain from it.

Derek climbed from his car and onto the sidewalk, moving toward me. His body was rigid and stiff and as he drew near, I couldn't discern anything from his eyes. They were closed off to me. He was . . . guarded.

It was probably for the best. I didn't know how much more I could take on right now.

He started for me and I nodded my head toward the backseat, making him glance and land on Marti. He diverted and stopped opposite me, opened the door and paused, looking up. Our gazes locked over the roof of the car and everything faded.

I let out a breath, rubbing circles over Lucy's back as she lifted her head up off my shoulder and glanced tiredly between Derek and I. She started to reach one of her hands out for him, clenched and unclenched her fist, signaling she wanted him to come to her. Derek nodded at her before bending down and scooping Marti up against his body. She started to stir the tiniest bit, the pattern of her soft snores stuttering for a second before she collapsed against him. As deep asleep as ever.

He turned his back and carried Marti up to the front door and into the house, leaving me to trail after with Lucy. I closed and locked up the car before I followed him. When I came into the darkened foyer, he was at the top of the stairs, moving down the hall. I leaned back, using my weight to shut the door.

And then, clutching Lucy tightly to me, my knees gave out and I sunk to the floor, burying my face in the soft fabric of her shirt. It smelled heavily of lavender and baby powder and something indecipherable. All Lucy.

I was crying again. But there was nothing but silence and it wasn't deafening anymore so I didn't stop myself.

"We made it," I whispered into her little shoulder as she tugged at the fallen locks of my hair. We'd made it home. Finally. It felt . . . it felt like this was an accomplishment. Like I'd succeeded. Small as it may be, I got through it. I got us home. All of us.

God, how freaking pathetic. But it was _something_. And just a few minutes ago it felt like an impossible feat. But here we were. Intact. Home. Together.

_It's not the end of the world. I promise._

"Hi." I opened my eyes, pulling back enough to find that Lucy had spit out her binky and was now staring intently at me, tugging at my hair to get my attention. "Hi," she said again in sync with another tug.

I let out a soft sound, something resembling laughter, somewhat, then sniffed and swiped at my face. "Hi," I whispered. She broke out into a smile then, as bright and radiant as sunshine. Blinding. Painful. My face crumpled and a sob escaped my mouth before I slapped a hand over it to suffocate myself. _Damn it_. Please_. Just give me strength._

Lucy's face scrunched into a frown at me and tried to throw herself backward out of my arms. I tightened my grip on her just in time. When she pulled back up, I did as she wanted and set her down on the floor beside me. She scrambled to her feet then as my hands slipped reluctantly off of her. She picked up her pacifier from the floor and stuck it back in her mouth, then, with one more unhappy look back at me, she toddled off toward the living room.

She made it almost to the entryway before Derek came down the stairs and swooped her up on his way by. Lucy let out an irritated huff before hooking her arm around the back of his neck and drooping her forehead to rest against his ear. He stopped in front of me and lowered himself to the floor.

I kept my head down, watching them in my periphery.

I couldn't say how much time passed between us there. We sat on the floor in the dark foyer of our family home. His eyes burned into me as I fixated on the floor and Lucy fell asleep, tucked in his lap with her face buried in his chest. My body yearned to follow her example. I wanted nothing more than to cross the small but insurmountable distance and curl up into him. I just wanted to feel the warmth, the touch of someone I loved.

_I want to feel like I'm not alone. _

_I want this terrifying hollowness to go away._

My thoughts drew to Marti upstairs. I didn't like thinking of her all alone in her bed. What if she woke up? Not that it mattered. She didn't know anything. Her world was still right and fine. It was me that couldn't stand the thought of it.

And then he moved and brought me back. He shifted his legs, stretching them out in front of him, one on either side of me, the denim of his jeans lining the light fabric of my pajama pants. His ankles pressed into my hips, digging for my attention.

I worked for a moment, gathering all I had left in me, and forced my eyes open. My lashes tried to stick together but I fought them. I pressed my lips into a thin line and looked up, finding him staring, an inscrutable look in his dark eyes.

The dark circles, the red-rimmed lines, the sallow look about him, not to mention the incredible despair etched deep into his features—it all made me itch like crazy to take him in my arms, to do something, to fix this, to make it better. It was the same look I was dreading but knew I'd see from Marti, once I told her. It's why I was praying for just one night, just a little time, just till morning. I couldn't take it.

"What are we gonna do?" he asked me, eyes penetrating past my every guard and stripping me bare, as always. The anguish that lashed out inside me was something fierce and brutal and unforgiving. But with it came anger, hurt, more anger.

"We?" I said, my voice viscid and cracked. My eyes narrowed at him. I tried not to, but I couldn't keep the bitterness inside. "There's a _we_ now?" He flinched, looked away. His hands curved over Lucy, as if she'd save him. I understood the sentiment. My hands went down to his legs, gripping him. "Where the hell was this "we" when you wouldn't open the door, when you sent me away, Derek?"

He screwed his eyes shut, lips parting silently for a long moment. Then he swallowed, hard. "Case—"

"You left me alone." My voice broke, trailing off into pitiful misery. I wanted to yell at him. Hit him. Beat on him as badly as I'd beaten on my poor car. But I couldn't. Because more than that, all I wanted was for him to hold me, for him to let me hold him, to just have something to hang onto. I shook my head at myself, tightening my hands on his legs. "That's not fair. I had to . . . I was alone. Where were you?"

When the silence enveloped us again, he picked his head back up and brought his eyes to me. Everything in them soothed me. I was crying again. "I'm sorry I left you alone," he told me. "I was afraid . . . I'd hurt you."

Something sharp pricked at me. _What's that supposed to mean?_ "Why would—why?"

He huffed out a thick breath and scrubbed a hand through his messy russet hair. "I was angry, Case. I _am_ angry. So fucking angry. And I couldn't trust myself to not take that out on you." Hooking Lucy securely around one arm, he leaned forward and closed a hand around one of my wrists. "I just . . . couldn't open the door."

His touch seared through the coldness encasing my flesh. It sparked something old and familiar within me and I relished in that now. I let him draw me to him, let him force me to look into his eyes and nowhere else so I could see the pleading there, the plea for me to just understand this and forgive. I looked into his eyes and I realized that Lucy wasn't the only one that needed me.

I've known Derek since I was fifteen. He's been the center of my world, good and bad, since our parents married. I know him better than I know myself. Even still, I couldn't understand, couldn't anticipate. I didn't know just what he was thinking, feeling, needing. Or I hadn't. Because I hadn't considered it. I hadn't realized he was feeling exactly as I was. Lost. Alone. Fucking terrified of tomorrow and the day after that.

We sat there for awhile. With Lucy pressed between us. Our link. Our unbreakable bond. Our sister. And Marti. She may not be my blood. But she's my sister, all the same. And Derek—he may never have felt like a brother to me, and definitely never would, but he was a part of me, just the same. Always had been.

This is still a family.

We're just a little smaller. A little more broken. A little less loved. A lot more lost.

But we'll find our way, I promised myself. We'll find a way to be right again. Or as close to right as possible for us.

:::

When the sun came up, I was lying in our parent's bed. With Derek's warmth pressed into me from behind, his face in my hair and his arm around my waist, holding me tight like his lifeline.

I opened my eyes, frowning curiously at the low buzzing of sound. It took a moment before I spotted a dark head of frizzy curls. Marti was curled cross-legged at the foot of the bed, focused on the old cartoons flashing across the small television in the corner. The volume was down so low I couldn't even distinguish it.

Lucy was beside me, stretched out over the pillow like she owned the whole thing. Good thing it was a queen-sized or else Derek would've wound up on the floor.

I fluttered my bleary eyes and yawned, rubbing at the dull throb in my temple. The light was too bright and I was sorely wishing I'd remembered to shut the curtains.

My heart started to race with terror and panic as I realized it was tomorrow already. There was so much to do. We had to tell Marti. We had so many people to call. Things to get in order. Issues to worry about. Problems to fix.

The majority of it was unfixable. But there were things, little things, big things . . . like custody of the kids, the fate of the house, the mystery of Mom and George's last will and testament. Abbey. My dad. School. My part-time gig at the bookstore.

As soon as I left this bed, I'd be thrust into a completely new life. The hectic scramble of the future's threshold. Change was inevitable. It'd always been that way and I'd always hated it. I wanted nothing more than to screw my eyes shut and burrow into the pillow, hold on to these people beside me, keep them with me as I fight off the withering effect of despair that was slithering its way through me. But I couldn't.

The sun was up and the option to hide in the night and pretend everything was fine was gone now. I had to get up.

I have to take care of things. I have to . . . I have to survive this. And I have to make sure these people here with me survive this. It hurt so bad, this gaping hole inside of me. But I have things I have to do. Because no matter what I want, I have to get up. I have to start the day. Sometimes, you don't get a choice.

_Woe is me_ won't get us anywhere.

"Case?" Derek murmured sleepily, stirring against me. "You awake?"

I nodded softly against him. "Mm Hm."

"Go back to sleep," he ordered, burying his face in my hair and breathing deep. He set his hand over mine where it rested against my stomach and held on. I started to shake my head, readying a protest, when he gave my hand a squeeze. "Go back to sleep, Case." He pulled me backward, curving around me. "The world won't come down around us for sleeping half the day away."

I opened my mouth, willing my tongue to move. But I couldn't do it. My eyes were already reclosing. _We can sleep a little longer_, I thought, sighing and sinking back into the dip of the bed. There was plenty of time to get things done.

I laid there for a long while, not quite ready to let go of that last thread of control and fade into oblivion again. I wanted to enjoy this warm peace for as long as I could. I found myself staring down at little Lucy's face, sparkling golden beneath the sunlight streaming over her. As I looked at her, I found myself remembering an easier time.

I worried if Lucy would suffer very badly from nightmares. Marti, I was certain. But Lucy? I just hoped she was young enough to avoid it. I'd taken enough psych classes to understand the severity of this. The detriments to them both, I couldn't bear to think about. This was such a delicate time in their lives.

I kept thinking, going over and over in my head, every angle, every possibility. I just kept searching for some way to fix this. But I couldn't. I just . . . couldn't. What I could do though was everything in my power to make it better. I didn't have time to wallow in my own head and heart. I needed to be focused on these two girls. I couldn't let this be any worse than it had to be.

Closing my eyes, I drifted, recalling my mother's voice so strongly I was convinced I could actually hear her voice filling my ears.

I could almost . . . almost hear her. I wanted it so badly, so intensely, that it felt that if I kept trying, I might be able to. Logically, I knew it was useless. But that didn't matter. I felt it. I needed it. I'd keep trying.

"Case?"

I rolled over to face him and found him staring, eyes blurry and bleary and the dark circles under them sunken. He searched my face, looking for something, I don't know what. But before he could speak again, I brought a hand up and brushed my fingertips over his face, dusting his messy hair back and running my hand through it till I hooked my arm around his neck and pulled him closer. I pressed my brow against his and took in a shuddery breath, letting his arm around my waist tighten and pull me in.

"Go back to sleep," I told him.

There was so much to do. There was so much weighing down on top of us. So much pressure trying to suffocate us. I didn't know how to fix it. Didn't know if I could. But I'd keep trying. Keep trying and keep reminding myself.

"It's not the end of the world," I whispered to him. "I promise."

_The End_


End file.
